The Kitchen Sink Is Taken, but the Garbage Can Has Potential
November 6, 2026 — Kelowna, British Columbia
There’s a pizza place in Kelowna that sells a pizza called The Kitchen Sink.
I discovered this tonight while contemplating spending approximately forty dollars on a large pizza.
Forty dollars.
For a fucking pizza.
Admittedly, a large pizza would probably last a couple of meals. With delivery, it’s arguably better value than ordering something smaller.
These are the sophisticated economic calculations you make when you’re homeless, living in a hotel room, and trying to figure out how many more nights you can afford to stay indoors.
I didn’t order the pizza.
Instead, I found myself lying in bed wondering what the hell I was smelling.
At first, I thought it might be body odour.
Which, frankly, wouldn’t have been entirely unreasonable.
I’ve spent much of the day propelling myself around Kelowna in my wheelchair, getting in and out of a vehicle, and repeatedly loading and unloading my chair.
My shoulders hurt. My back hurts. I’m exhausted.
And I’m still hungry.
Then I looked at the garbage can.
Oh.
Well, that explains a few things.
Banana peels. Pepperoni stick wrappers. An empty tuna pasta salad container. Assorted packaging from my recent culinary adventures.
The pasta salad had olives and olive oil. The meat sticks were essentially pepperoni.
And somehow, the combined aroma was making me crave pizza.
Not garbage.
Pizza.
Apparently, I’ve reached the point where the smell of my own garbage can is triggering cravings for Italian food.
I’m not sure whether that’s a culinary achievement or a warning sign.
Possibly both.
Earlier, I’d been craving licorice. I didn’t have any.
Cheesecake was another possibility, but twelve to fourteen dollars seemed a substantial investment in dessert when I’m trying to preserve enough money to keep a roof over my head.
So I bought a ninety-nine-cent caramel bar.
I also ate two small bananas.
They were yellow. They looked ripe.
They lied.
Both tasted green.
There’s probably a metaphor in there somewhere, but I’ve had enough metaphors for one week.
Meanwhile, Checkout Is at Eleven
I’m still at the Oasis Inn in Kelowna, where I’ve been staying since my discharge from Kelowna General Hospital on November 3. Before that, I’d been discharged from the Bay Avenue shelter following a dispute over my wheelchair use.
When the hospital discharged me, I had no confirmed accommodation. A social worker suggested contacting CMHA about obtaining a tent.
For a wheelchair user with significant mobility limitations, chronic pain, and insulin-dependent diabetes, that wasn’t a realistic housing solution.
I managed to secure a hotel room. At more than a hundred dollars a night, it’s an expensive way to remain homeless.
Tomorrow is Saturday. Checkout is at eleven. Emergency assistance has been approved, but I still don’t have a confirmed accessible housing placement.
Seven Hours, Six Counters, and Five Minutes to Spare
At approximately eight this morning, Tanya, a Ministry supervisor, called about my emergency crisis funding request.
She couldn’t authorize it herself. The decision had to go to policy managers. But she advocated for me and kept me informed throughout the day as the request moved through the process.
She also clarified that I hadn’t been too forceful in my previous telephone interactions with Ministry staff and indicated she’d be speaking with them. After days of frustrating calls and repeated explanations, I appreciated both her follow-through and her willingness to communicate about a decision outside her direct control.
By approximately 2:50 p.m., the emergency funding had been approved and the arrangements sorted out — nearly seven hours after Tanya’s first call. That establishes the approval, not the exact time the money became available to spend.
Meanwhile, the day involved government counters, paperwork, transportation, and deadlines.
Six counters. Two agents. A receptionist.
And at one point, I was approximately five minutes away from not making it in time.
Five minutes.
Fortunately, Amanda Poon was helping me get around Kelowna. Without her assistance, the logistics would have been considerably more difficult.
We made it. The approval offers some immediate relief, but it doesn’t turn a hotel room into a home.
The Woman Who Walked Away
As four o’clock approached, I was standing in line at the Ministry office with a handful of other people waiting for assistance.
A woman ahead of several others needed help herself. But she stepped aside and let other people go ahead.
She explained that others needed the help more. If stepping aside meant one more person could be served before closing, she could come back Monday.
I don’t know her circumstances, what she needed, or what waiting until Monday might cost her.
But I watched her give up her place in line and walk away down the street without receiving assistance herself.
I don’t know her name. But I won’t soon forget her.
The People Who Keep Showing Up
Throughout this experience, I’ve received an extraordinary amount of generosity, encouragement, and practical assistance. People have donated, offered rides, shared contacts, made calls, advocated on my behalf, shared my stories, and reached out privately.
And people have commented. Some encouraging. Some critical. Some challenging. There are things people have said that I’m still thinking about, and probably will be for quite some time.
I want to thank everyone. I don’t have a complete list of names in front of me tonight, and some people have contributed privately or anonymously. Please don’t mistake the absence of your name for an absence of gratitude.
I particularly want to acknowledge Michelle H., Michelle R., Amanda Poon, and Pam. Amanda’s help getting me around Kelowna today was invaluable, and I deeply appreciate the kindness and support each of you has extended.
Michelle H. deserves a special mention. She wrote a detailed, thoughtful letter to Kelowna City Hall, using my circumstances as one example in a much broader argument about accessibility, housing, and how people in need are treated.
I’d like to ask her permission to publish the letter in full. Her arguments deserve a wider audience.
She also told me today that Mayor Tom Dyas responded with a single line. I’d like to include his response alongside her letter once I’ve confirmed the exact wording.
And thank you to Tanya for advocating for me and keeping me informed through today’s funding process.
The support I’ve received hasn’t ended my homelessness. It’s helped me survive it.
Something larger may be emerging from the conversations, questions, challenges, and offers of help. I don’t know yet what that collective effort might become. But the questions about accessibility, homelessness, and accountability aren’t going away.
Apparently, Homelessness Has an Expiry Date
Meanwhile, news reports describe a federal government initiative aimed at ending homelessness in Canada within the next ten years, involving housing and support services.
I hope it works. I genuinely do.
But the timing struck me as rather amusing. Here I am, lying in a hotel room, trying to figure out where I’m going to sleep next, while the federal government is talking about the next decade.
Ten years.
Approximately 3,650 days.
Or 3,650 opportunities to be told that checkout is at eleven.
Housing takes time to build. Programs need funding. Governments need to coordinate their responsibilities. Long-term planning matters.
But so does tonight. And tomorrow morning.
I’d love to look back on this experience someday from the comfort of my own apartment. Nothing extravagant. A modest place with a kitchen, an accessible bathroom, somewhere to refrigerate my insulin, and enough room for my wheelchair without having to defend its existence.
I’d even settle for a garbage can that doesn’t smell like dinner.
And Yes, I Have Diabetes
I can almost hear some people groaning. Here he goes again. Diabetes.
But there’s a reason I keep mentioning it. My diabetes management has actually been very good, and that doesn’t happen by accident.
It takes planning, technology, medication, food, monitoring, and access to resources. Insulin needs appropriate storage. Devices need charging. Supplies need to be available. Food needs to be reasonably predictable.
Those aren’t luxuries. They’re part of what keeps me healthy.
Which is why the suggestion that I should simply go camping is rather difficult to take seriously. I enjoy camping — when it’s a choice, with appropriate equipment, under the right circumstances.
There’s a considerable difference between recreational camping and being forced to live outdoors because there isn’t anywhere accessible to go.
Back to the Garbage
Which brings me back to The Kitchen Sink. A pizza with practically everything on it.
Looking at my garbage can, I realized there’s another possibility.
The Garbage Can.
Pepperoni. Olives. Perhaps some banana, although I suspect that would be controversial. Maybe a little tuna pasta salad for texture.
Actually, no. Let’s not get carried away. There are limits. Even for me.
And before anybody starts lecturing me about recycling, yes, I know. There are recyclables in the garbage can, and there’s a recycling bin in the room.
It’s just too far away for me to get up every time I have another wrapper or empty container to dispose of. So the garbage can is beside the bed, within reach. I’ll separate the recyclables before everything goes to the disposal area.
Even throwing something away can require a little planning when you have mobility limitations.
At the moment, I’m listening to Blue Rodeo and related music on my iPad mini, feeling rather like somebody is attempting to extract one of my kidneys through my back.
I suspect that has something to do with being my age and repeatedly lifting a wheelchair into and out of the back of a plug-in hybrid SUV.
PHEV, I believe, is the correct term. Although at the moment, I can think of several other things those letters might stand for. None of them particularly complimentary.
I’m tired. I’m sore. I’m hungry. And perhaps the reason I’m still hungry is that I keep smelling the garbage can.
So here we are. Me, the iPad, the garbage can, and a growing appreciation for the absurdity of my circumstances.
The past couple of weeks have been heartbreaking, infuriating, and occasionally so absurd that I might have difficulty believing them if I hadn’t lived through them.
Tonight, I’m writing about garbage. Actual garbage. Although I suppose there’s probably room in there for a few government announcements, too.
But perhaps that’s unfair. I’d be delighted to see meaningful results from any serious commitment to ending homelessness — preferably before my next hotel checkout.
What I Need Now
I need a safe, affordable, accessible place to stay in Kelowna as soon as possible, while a longer-term housing solution is found.
I use a wheelchair for most daily mobility outside my room. I can transfer and walk short distances, but I cannot safely rely on a walker throughout the day.
I need wheelchair access, a usable bathroom, safe insulin storage, electricity for my medical equipment, and somewhere I can rest without making my pain worse. It doesn’t have to be fancy. It does have to be workable.
If you know of an available room, accessible temporary accommodation, suitable housing vacancy, or someone authorized to arrange a placement, please contact me directly. Tell me the location, accessibility details, availability, cost, and who can make the decision.
If you’re with a housing organization, government agency, service provider, or community group, I need more than another referral to another waiting list. I need help turning an available room into an actual place to stay.
Financial contributions continue to help cover temporary accommodation, food, transportation, and the costs of staying medically stable while I look for housing. If you can’t contribute financially, please share this with someone who can offer a specific housing lead or authorize a placement.
I’m grateful for the assistance and kindness that have brought me this far. But the central question remains.
Where am I going to live?
Not where can I spend another night if I can afford it. Not where can I pitch a tent. Where can I live?
That’s the question I need help answering. And once we’ve answered it, there are bigger questions I intend to keep asking.
Tonight, though, I have a reasonably comfortable bed, some music playing, people who’ve shown me extraordinary kindness, and a garbage can that’s inadvertently inspired another Personal Dispatch.
Tomorrow’s problems haven’t disappeared. They’re waiting for me at eleven.
For now, I can still laugh.
The Kitchen Sink might be taken.
But the Garbage Can has potential.
And unlike the pizza, at least I can afford it.
Editor’s note: This dispatch references reporting on the federal government’s November 2026 ten-year homelessness initiative. Its stated long-term objective should not be confused with a guarantee that homelessness will be eliminated within that period. Funding commitments, implementation timelines, and anticipated outcomes warrant further examination.
Photograph: The actual garbage can at the Oasis Inn, November 6, 2026. Recyclables will be separated before disposal.